


Niceties

by esteoflorien



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 00:26:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteoflorien/pseuds/esteoflorien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The windfall from selling her story to Richard Carlisle might not have had the results Vera Bates was expecting, but still - it was nice. Pre-Rosera.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Niceties

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itstheredshoes](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=itstheredshoes).



Vera Bates knew, in retrospect, that she should have immediately realized that Carlisle – that _bastard_ – was never going to run her story. She should have paid better attention to the social pages, done just a little more research. At least then she might have negotiated for a higher price. “Tell me, sir,” she imagined herself saying. “What _is_ the value of your future bride’s reputation?”

Still, it was a nice bit of money, she supposed. It was something where she’d formerly had very close to nothing, and that was worth the bit of effort it had taken to get the dirt on the Crawley girl in the first place. She stroked the fur of the stole around her neck; it had been an impudent purchase, a moment of carelessness and lack of restraint. But it was nice, nice to have such fine things.

 _Everything seemed_ nice _today_ , Vera thought.

Home, of course, was not nice, but it was a place of her own and something she’d secured for herself without assistance from anyone, and that alone gave it incredible value. She’d come quite far from the country girl who’d married impetuously and young. She’d managed to set herself up in London, and now, with this little gift from Richard Carlisle, she’d be able to tide herself over until she found some sort of work. Even after her silly little indulgence, there was enough to cover the rent of her room for a month, two, even, if she was careful.

She glanced up. She’d never imagined setting foot in a fine place like the Ritz, but it was teatime, and she had a fur, and why not? She breezed in to the cafe, and found herself seated by the fountains. She did her best not to stare; she paid attention to her accent as she ordered; more than anything, she wanted to belong. She fingered the tablecloth once the waiter had left. It was not lost on her – and perhaps not on him – that the dining tables of the wealthy were clothed in finer fabric than most children of her acquaintance. It was a sorry state of affairs, and yet there was precious little Vera Bates wanted more than to be a part of that world.

She glanced up as the scent of perfume wafted its way towards her. _Perfume_ , she thought idly. _I shall have to get some_.

The scent grew stronger as the woman made her way in Vera’s direction. She was uncommonly lovely: not especially tall, but possessed of fine features and hair the loveliest shade of copper. She was the kind of woman Vera wanted to know. It had always nagged at her, the way she was fascinated by women. She’d married John because he was the first to ask, and she thought that would be the end of that. Instead, it had made her a miserable wife who still found herself fascinated by other women. Sometimes, she didn’t quite know what to make of herself.

What she did know, however, was what she wanted, and in that moment, she wanted the red-haired woman. She wanted to sit with her, to share tea, to have a walk. She wanted to hear her voice. And she was sat in the restaurant at the Ritz, where no one had any idea who she was. She had money, she had no husband, and she could damn well do as she liked. She stood, and made her way over to the woman’s table.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

“We haven’t,” Vera said. “I don’t know who you are, but I wanted to meet you. Please do allow me to introduce myself.”

The red-haired woman looked flustered. “Of course,” she said, after a moment.

“I’m Vera MacKinnon,” she said. She knew they all went north on shooting holidays; if she was going to give a false name, it might as well be Scottish. “It’s lovely to make your acquaintance.”  

“Rosamund Painswick,” the woman replied, in a voice that gave Vera shivers. “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon,” Vera replied, suddenly quite conscious that she was stood at the centre of the cafe at the Ritz. “I see you haven’t ordered your tea. Perhaps you would like to join me?”

The older woman regarded her with a curious expression. Vera recognized the name, of course – _would she never be free of Downton Abbey?_ – and she knew that Rosamund Painswick was currently searching every corner of her memory for a time when she might have been introduced to a member of the MacKinnon family.

“That would be lovely,” Rosamund said, taking her by surprise. “After all, you went to such trouble to meet me. I should like to meet you as well.” She gathered her things and stood. Instinctively, Vera took a step back, and motioned towards her table.

“After you,” she murmured, for it was polite to let a guest go ahead of her, and Rosamund was a guest, of sorts. This was as close a sitting room as she currently had, so she might as well be one. She watched Rosamund make her way to the little table by the fountain and smiled. She had never greeted the unknown with anything other than trepidation, but now she found herself in a lovely state of delicious anticipation. She had the sense it was going to be a far _nicer_ day than she could have ever imagined. 


End file.
